


the wind at your back

by SEMellark



Category: Dororo (Anime 2019)
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe, Body Dysphoria, Brotherly Bonding, Disabled Character, Dororo said fuck you I'm gonna destroy the world for this tiny gremlin child I found, Families of Choice, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Trans Male Character, very mild but it does pop up sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEMellark/pseuds/SEMellark
Summary: When Dororo thinks about it, it becomes that much harder to make a clean break. He has no interest in being Hyakkimaru’s long-term babysitter, and all this demon stuff isn’t good for Dororo’s heart. But even if he’s seen Hyakkimaru kill demons ten times his size, there’s still something inherently innocent andhelplessabout him.Hyakkimaru may not look over his shoulder to check if Dororo is still with him, but Dororo finds himself wanting to be there anyway, just in case.-AU. Dororo happens upon a peculiar child, and despite his better judgment, he just can't seem to leave him behind.
Relationships: Dororo & Hyakkimaru (Dororo)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm BACK on the brothers train, my dudes

Although Dororo remembers how it felt to be a dirty, snot-nosed brat, he doesn’t necessarily _like_ children.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with kids, Dororo supposes. It’s unavoidable to start off weak, defenseless, and naïve. But the time spent growing, changing, learning to be a functional human being is altogether way too long, so Dororo tends to keep his distance when he can.

And yet Dororo often finds himself in these unavoidable situations. Call him a bleeding heart, but he can’t turn a blind eye to certain injustices. And when Dororo catches four tall, bulky men attempting to shake down a kid who barely reaches their waists, Dororo’s incapable of turning away like he wants.

“Oi, oi,” he calls, pausing at the mouth of the bridge. One of the men turns to regard him with cold, dark eyes, and Dororo grins. “Leave the kid alone, huh? Whatever he did, can’t we just chalk it up to kids being kids?”

“He needs to learn respect,” one of the other men says. He has a sword at the right side of his waist, but the left arm of his kimono is tied off at the end and flaps in the wind. _Purely for show, then._

Dororo hums, moving closer. “Ever thought of _earning_ his respect?”

The men certainly don’t like that, as all of them shift to face off against Dororo. With them mostly out of the way, Dororo catches a better glimpse of the child in their midst. He’s almost startlingly pale, with dark hair tied back into a ponytail. The kimono he’s wearing looks a little rough, ragged at the ends and falling just above his knees.

With no expression, the boy tilts his face toward Dororo, who stiffens. Vacant, glassy eyes stare at a spot just to the left of Dororo’s own. There isn’t an ounce of recognition in those eyes, or even relief at Dororo’s interference.

“Picking on a blind kid. Nice,” Dororo says. “Glad to see your souls are just as ugly as your faces.”

Before any of the men can start after him, one abruptly goes flying off the bridge and into the water below. Dororo stares at the empty spot where he once stood, slack jawed. “What the – “ one of the men spits, and then he too goes flying.

Dororo takes a step back, and the remaining two men begin to scream, pushing at one another and the small boy in a mad scramble toward the village on the bridge’s other side. The boy stumbles, falling heavily against the bridge’s banister, but even then, his expression doesn’t twitch.

There’s the sound of splashing water below as one of the men resurfaces, thrashing and screaming. “There’s something down here!” Dororo hears him shout, and then there’s _another_ sound, one Dororo can’t readily identify.

It could be a rabid dog, or a bear, or something straight out of Dororo’s nightmares. It sends a shiver down Dororo’s spine, and he makes an aborted move toward the boy, who’s pushing up on his tiptoes to stare down into the water. “Get back – “ Dororo tries to shout, but then two porcelain arms drop with a clatter to the bridge, and the kid disappears from sight.

Afterward, Dororo takes the time to wonder why he stayed. Why he didn’t just turn tail and go about his business instead of grabbing the prosthetics without a thought in his head and stumbling down to the river.

He wanted to run, he thinks. The large, demonic shape rising from the water had Dororo shaking down to his toes. It was his first time seeing one up close, but the terror that bloomed in Dororo’s chest just hadn’t been enough to trigger his fight or flight instincts.

And after, when Dororo wordlessly watches the kid from before reattaching his prosthetics over the _swords_ embedded in his arms, Dororo kind of wishes he’d just minded his own business.

* * *

The kid’s name is Hyakkimaru, and he’s probably the most pitiful person Dororo has ever encountered. There’s no way of telling how old he is, but he barely comes up to Dororo’s waist, so he can’t be any older than ten or eleven.

Hyakkimaru’s size is really the only childlike thing about him. He moves like something inhuman, always moving forward with an unspoken purpose that Dororo thinks must have something to do with the state of his body. He remembers how Hyakkimaru had fallen to his knees in the mud after killing that river demon, how the milk-white mask had fallen from his face, exposing muscle and tendon that was quickly replaced by _actual_ skin.

Dororo has never seen anything like it, and it’s not like he can just ask Hyakkimaru what had happened. It had taken him over a day of stalking and pestering just to get Hyakkimaru to scratch the wobbly characters of his name into the dirt, and Dororo _still_ doesn’t know how Hyakkimaru managed to guess what he wanted.

The kid is mute, deaf, and blind; a holy trifecta of misfortune that marks him as something undesirable, pitiful. Hyakkimaru can’t catch the looks of the people they pass on the road, but Dororo does. He recognizes pity when he sees it, but not a soul turns back and calls out. No one asks if Hyakkimaru needs help.

“How have you survived this long?” Dororo says to the back of Hyakkimaru’s head.

* * *

As time passes, Dororo starts to notice the definite pattern. A demon pops up in their path, Dororo screams his head off, and Hyakkimaru swiftly kills it. Sometimes the kid regains a missing part of his body, but most of the time, he doesn’t.

Some foreign feeling bubbles up in Dororo’s stomach when he watches Hyakkimaru hack demons to pieces. He appears as an avenging deity, pale and bloody amidst the carnage, although Hyakkimaru is none the wiser to the visage he makes. There are always these moments of quiet after a battle, when Dororo reemerges from the tree line and approaches Hyakkimaru slowly, footsteps careful.

Most of the time, Hyakkimaru doesn’t acknowledge him. He stands in the middle of blood-soaked fields and stares sightlessly at the smooth surface of his hands. Dororo knows he’s waiting for something to return, for his body to move ever closer to being whole, and Dororo _hates_ the way Hyakkimaru’s brow pinches on the occasions when nothing happens.

“Next time,” Dororo says, taking Hyakkimaru’s face in hand as he wipes at the blood and demon guts on his face. Hyakkimaru is quiet, staring at that inexplicable spot on Dororo’s chest that he seems to be obsessed with. Dororo doesn’t know what the boy sees, if anything, but he catches Hyakkimaru looking there often. Somehow, it doesn’t make Dororo squirm the way it does when others do the same thing. “It’s like these things keep finding you. The next one has to have _something._ ”

Once Hyakkimaru’s face is clean, Dororo takes his hand and leads him to a nearby stream, undressing Hyakkimaru much like his own mother used to do for Dororo. Hyakkimaru doesn’t move, barely even blinks as Dororo manhandles him into the water, and Dororo snickers to himself, remembering the first time he’d tried to make Hyakkimaru take a bath.

For someone who can’t talk or really express themselves much, Hyakkimaru had put up such a _fuss_ over the feeling of water on his skin, as if he hadn’t purposefully stepped in a _fire_ the same day his skin grew back.

It hasn’t really been that long since then, but Dororo already sees the way Hyakkimaru has resigned himself to being cleaned after a fight. He sits back on his knees and lets Dororo do what he wants, scrubbing him all over with rags and dumping water over his head. Not for the first time, Dororo wonders where Hyakkimaru was before they met. Surely Hyakkimaru wouldn’t have lived so long if someone hadn’t been watching over him. Where had they gone? Why had Hyakkimaru been left alone?

When Dororo thinks about it, it becomes that much harder to make a clean break. He has no interest in being Hyakkimaru’s long-term babysitter, and all this demon stuff isn’t good for Dororo’s heart. But even if he’s seen Hyakkimaru kill demons ten times his size, there’s still something inherently innocent and _helpless_ about him.

Hyakkimaru may not look over his shoulder to check if Dororo is still with him, but Dororo finds himself wanting to be there anyway, just in case.

* * *

They get separated sometimes. It’s inevitable, what with Hyakkimaru’s penchant for wandering off while Dororo is otherwise preoccupied finding food for the both of them. Dororo wants to rip his hair out every time he turns around to find Hyakkimaru gone, but no matter how irritated he is, he always goes looking.

When Hyakkimaru disappears in the first real town they visit together, Dororo doesn’t really think anything of it. He wanders around, takes in the sights, and pickpockets a drunk or two while still keeping his eyes out. But when afternoon bleeds into evening, and as storm clouds start to blot out the setting sun, Dororo starts to pick up the pace.

When the skies open up, Dororo curses under his breath, pushing his wet bangs out of his face as he ducks underneath a veranda outside a pleasure house. Dororo typically avoids them like the plague, but it’s the only building with lights on in the area, and he desperately needs a moment to think if he’s going to figure out where Hyakkimaru went.

He can hear women giggling from the open windows in the rooms above, men speaking in low, hushed tones, and Dororo bites his lip, trying to ignore how his skin crawls. “Are you looking for company tonight, boy?” Dororo jumps, taking a startled step to the side as a woman steps out into the street with him. She doesn’t look at him as others have in the past, with a keen and alluring glint in her eyes. She just seems genuinely curious. “Aren’t you a little… young?”

Dororo scowls, setting aside his unease for now even as the woman laughs at him. “I’ve seventeen,” he says. “But I’m not – I’m looking for a kid. He’s like, this high? Super pale, blind, blank look on his face?”

The woman’s eyes flit up to the sky, and Dororo’s eyes fall to the red paint on her lips. His mind instantly wanders to _that_ day, the field, the spider lilies, and he looks away. “I think I saw a boy like that run by here earlier,” she says eventually. “He seemed pretty frightened though, not at all blank like you say.”

“Really?” Dororo asks immediately. “Which way did he go?”

The woman points a long, red-tipped finger down the street to Dororo’s left, and he offers her a quick thanks before darting back out into the rain. He manages to run for a while before his bare feet begin slipping in the mud, and Dororo curses again, barely managing to avoid falling flat on his face. “Hyakkimaru!” he calls. He doesn’t know why. It’s not like Hyakkimaru would hear him. “Where are you? Hyakkimaru!”

Dororo is about to push himself up and keep running when he hears something in the alley to his right. The rain isn’t falling as heavily as it was before, which is probably the only reason Dororo managed to pick up on it. He turns, peering into the dark, half expecting a demon or feral cat to come jumping out at him.

But nothing manages to startle him. Not _too_ badly, anyway. Dororo isn’t quite sure what to call the feeling that makes his heart leap when he realizes Hyakkimaru is curled up against the alley’s far wall, tiny and trembling in a way Dororo’s never seen before. “Hyakkimaru,” Dororo says again, just to himself, but Hyakkimaru’s head whips up, so quickly that it has to hurt.

The boy’s eyes are as blank as they’ve always been. But they’re _huge,_ and his lips, thin and blue, tremble as Dororo moves toward him. He jumps to his feet, legs streaked with mud, and he tries to dart around Dororo, chin tucked to his chest. “Hey,” Dororo says, startled, but he manages to catch Hyakkimaru around the shoulders before he can get away. The boy begins to struggle as Dororo pulls him back into the privacy of the alley, making these quiet, breathy grunts that Dororo has never heard before. “Knock it off, Hyakkimaru! What’s gotten into you?”

Hyakkimaru stills, and Dororo winces as Hyakkimaru plants his palms into Dororo’s stomach hard enough to wind him. “Geez,” Dororo coughs, releasing Hyakkimaru. “What, have you finally gotten sick of me?”

Hyakkimaru isn’t paying attention, although he rarely ever does. His eyes, narrowed and unseeing, are fixated on that same spot on Dororo’s chest he loves to stare at. Dororo has half a mind to just turn around and leave, let the kid follow after if he wants, but then the tension abruptly bleeds from Hyakkimaru’s shoulders. 

He throws himself forward again, although he runs into Dororo this time, not from him. Thin arms snake around Dororo’s waist, small hands clutch at the back of his shirt, and Dororo just stands there, completely confused as Hyakkimaru hugs him. “Um, okay,” Dororo says. “This is new. I guess you missed me, then?”

Hyakkimaru pulls away to peer up at Dororo, brow furrowed, head tilted to one side. “You’re so weird,” Dororo sighs, and Hyakkimaru blinks, pushing up on his tiptoes like he’s trying to get closer.

It takes Dororo an embarrassingly long time to realize that Hyakkimaru is _listening_ to him _._

* * *

There are a few days where everything is just terrible. Hyakkimaru is seemingly frightened by everything now, and they can barely travel far without the young boy hurrying back to Dororo at the slightest sound. It gets to a point where the progress they’ve made since the town is so minuscule that Dororo just decides to set up camp and stay put while Hyakkimaru adjusts.

They’re sitting ducks for demons this way, but Dororo supposes there isn’t much they can do about that. Instead, he focuses on making Hyakkimaru comfortable, wrapping up his head with one of the clothes they use for bathing so that his ears are covered. It won’t entirely muffle sound, but it makes Hyakkimaru slightly calmer than he has been since that night in the rain.

After a few days, Dororo tries to take the cloth off, but Hyakkimaru dodges his hands whenever he tries, scowling and grunting in that way of his until Dororo finally gives up. “You can’t live like this forever,” Dororo says pointedly, staring in bemusement as Hyakkimaru pushes his hands against his covered ears. “I promise the world isn’t as scary as you think.”

It’s a lie, though Dororo is still kind of amused that someone who regularly fights demons is scared by rustling leaves. “Look,” Dororo says, and Hyakkimaru turns toward him slightly, lowering his hands. Dororo’s voice is the only thing Hyakkimaru doesn’t shy away from, but what good does that do when Hyakkimaru can’t understand the words he’s saying? “I can’t teach you to speak like this. Don’t you want to tell me to leave you alone with your own voice? I’m gonna keep bugging you until you _tell_ me to stop, you know.”

Hyakkimaru frowns, dark hair falling into his eyes with the force of the wind, and Dororo heaves a giant sigh before knocking his head back against the tree he’s sitting against. “I’m never having kids,” he says to the treetops. “I mean, I wasn’t before, but especially not now. How did Mama and Papa ever deal with me?”

Not for the first time, Dororo wishes that his parents were still here. His mother would know how to help Hyakkimaru get over these hang-ups, and his father would help him fight demons without a second thought. But they’re not here. It’s just Dororo, who barely knows how to care for himself, let alone some kid who kills like he was born to do so but shakes at the sound of wind.

Dororo tucks his chin against his chest with another sigh. What is he even doing here?

Hyakkimaru stands abruptly, drawing Dororo’s attention. He walks over to him, carefully avoiding the fire pit, and drops to his knees beside Dororo. Tired and confused, Dororo quirks an eyebrow at Hyakkimaru. “What now?”

Still frowning, Hyakkimaru lifts a hand and presses it against Dororo’s chest.

It isn’t exactly conscious, the way Dororo stiffens and grabs Hyakkimaru’s wrist so hard he swears the prosthetic creaks. Dororo wants to rip Hyakkimaru’s hand off him, push the kid away, but he can’t seem to move, paralyzed by the weight of Hyakkimaru’s emotionless stare.

Hyakkimaru isn’t even touching skin, just Dororo’s kimono and a bit of the bandages he keeps wrapped around his chest, and still, Dororo wants to crawl into a hole in the ground and disappear.

“Hyakkimaru,” Dororo says once he’s found his voice. Hyakkimaru’s dark eyes flit up to him at the sound. “You shouldn’t – Don’t do that.”

The boy tilts his head, an indicator that he’s at least listening, and Dororo grits his teeth, slowly pushing Hyakkimaru’s hand away and back into his own lap. “No,” he says firmly. “No, Hyakkimaru, you can’t do that. I don’t like it.”

There’s no way Hyakkimaru can comprehend what Dororo is telling him, but the thought is still there, this insane need to make sure Hyakkimaru never tries to do this again. Dororo sits up straighter and reaches out, pressing his own palm to the same spot on Hyakkimaru’s chest. Hyakkimaru grunts quietly but otherwise doesn’t move, which wasn’t really the reaction Dororo had been hoping for.

Dororo’s just about to pull his hand away when he feels something jump against his palm. It’s Hyakkimaru’s heart, obviously, but Dororo still feels thrown by it. He hesitates, taking in the slow beat of Hyakkimaru’s heart, so much slower than Dororo’s own.

“Oh,” Dororo whispers as he finally pulls away. Hyakkimaru lifts a hand to ghost his fingers over the spot of warmth Dororo must have left, brow furrowing. “I’m… “

He trails off, watching as Hyakkimaru reaches up to undo the knot Dororo made to hold the cloth in place. It falls down to Hyakkimaru’s lap, but he ignores it as he shifts closer to Dororo, tucking himself against Dororo’s side and leaning over to press his ear against Dororo’s chest.

Dororo feels how his heart leaps, uncertain and afraid, but when he glances down at Hyakkimaru, the boy’s eyes are closed. He just sits there with his knees digging into Dororo’s thighs, a hand fisted in his kimono.

Perfectly relaxed.

Dororo closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing. He reminds himself that Hyakkimaru doesn’t have the words that most people do. He doesn’t perceive life beyond what he experiences in the moment. Hyakkimaru isn’t judging _._ He just… wants to _be._

More than anyone else, Dororo thinks he understands that.

* * *

“Okay,” Dororo says, and Hyakkimaru inclines his head toward him as they walk. “I’ve given you time, Hyakkimaru, but I’m getting a little tired of losing you in crowds. You have to learn to respond to me, or call for me if you want my attention, alright?”

Hyakkimaru frowns, but Dororo soldiers on, stepping in front of Hyakkimaru and blocking his way down the road. Before, Hyakkimaru would have veered around him and kept going. Now he just stops walking and peers up at Dororo, waiting for what comes next.

“I know you can talk,” Dororo says, voice mildly teasing as he towers over his companion. “You can’t keep grunting at me forever, so, I’m gonna teach you some new words, okay?”

He pokes Hyakkimaru in the chest, right above his heart. “Hyakkimaru,” he says pointedly, and the boy blinks. “That’s you. _Hyakkimaru_.”

Hyakkimaru glances down at himself. There’s a long moment of silence before he grunts, then another moment before Dororo hears a low, “Ha.”

Dororo nods, and since they’re the only ones on the road, he doesn’t bother wiping the grin off his face. “That’s right. Your name is Hyakkimaru.” Dororo grabs Hyakkimaru’s right hand, curls his fingers into his palm until only his index finger is sticking out. He then brings Hyakkimaru’s hand to point at his own chest, at the area Hyakkimaru fixates on, at Dororo’s own heart. “And my name is Dororo, but I want you to call me ‘Aniki’, okay? Can you say it? Aniki?”

Hyakkimaru’s brow furrows, and it actually seems as if he’s thinking. “Ani – “ the boy says suddenly, startling Dororo, who had expected it to take much longer. “ – ki.”

Dororo remains quiet, somehow stunned even though this is what he’d wanted, and Hyakkimaru glances up at his face, meets his eyes in a way that makes it seem as if he can actually see Dororo looking back. “Aniki,” Hyakkimaru says again, louder this time, taking a step forward when Dororo doesn’t answer. “Aniki.”

“Good job, Hyakkimaru,” Dororo says, dropping the boy’s hand only to reach out and pat his head. It isn’t the first time he’s done it, but it’s the first time Hyakkimaru hasn’t ducked out of the way. “All you have to do is call for me, and I’ll come, okay?”

And it almost seems like Hyakkimaru understands when he looks at Dororo’s chest and says, “Aniki.”


	2. Chapter 2

Traveling with Hyakkimaru opens Dororo’s eyes to how much he hadn’t known about… well, _anything._

Dororo has never exactly considered himself naïve – not for a very long time. He’s seen more than his fair share in his seventeen years, because you can’t grow up as an orphan in this world without picking up a thing or twenty. Everything Dororo has learned, everything he’s done, was a means for his own survival, and he’s resolved never to regret anything. No matter how much they string up and beat him over it.

The thing about Hyakkimaru is that he doesn’t have a damn clue: not to steer clear of fire, not to respect his elders, and certainly not to avoid the things that go bump in the night. And try as Dororo might, there are just certain aspects of living that he can’t teach someone like Hyakkimaru.

Not because there’s anything wrong with the kid. For someone who’s spent his entire life in darkness and silence, Hyakkimaru picks up on things surprisingly quickly. No, the problem lies within Dororo, and if all it took was Hyakkimaru’s abrupt entrance into his life for him to realize it, then Dororo wasn’t as grown up as he’d thought.

Now that Hyakkimaru doesn’t become spooked over every slight sound, he’s developed an inquisitiveness that Dororo has trouble satisfying. There’s just so much Hyakkimaru wants to _know,_ and even if he doesn’t have the words to ask, he’s persistent in getting Dororo to give him answers.

His favorite word is “why,” and it grates on Dororo’s nerves just as much as it endears him to the kid. It takes work to understand what Hyakkimaru wants in any given moment. Dororo has to figure out when “why” actually means “how” or “where,” and it’s not guaranteed that Hyakkimaru will even understand the explanations he’s given.

It can be frustrating at times. Dororo doesn’t know how to explain why water is wet, or how birds can fly, or where the warmth of the sun goes when it disappears in the night. They’re just aspects of the world that he never considered after reaching a certain age. Still, Dororo tries his best to give Hyakkimaru what he wants, even when he can’t.

Especially when he can’t, sometimes.

* * *

There’s something about Mio that makes Dororo want to trust her. He isn’t certain what it is – maybe it’s the way she talks to the kids, or the way she smells, or her voice – but from the moment they meet, Dororo knows she’s different from others he’s encountered.

Hyakkimaru takes to her immediately, and it only makes Dororo slightly bitter. He had to do _so much_ just for the kid to acknowledge his presence more than twice a day, alright? And Mio is lovely and all, but she’s not the one who cleans Hyakkimaru up when he’s covered in demon blood.

Even so, Dororo finds that he enjoys watching Hyakkimaru when he’s with Mio. She brings out a docile, almost demure side of him that Dororo never thought he’d see. He doesn’t play with the other children Mio cares for – Dororo pushes down the thought that Hyakkimaru doesn’t know _how_ to play – but he tags along nonetheless, following the sound of Mio’s voice like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

The thought comes to Dororo more than once over the few days they spend with Mio and her gaggle of skinny, dirty children. Of just… walking away. He’s tried to make himself available to Hyakkimaru if he needs him, but Dororo can’t give the kid what Mio can. He isn’t caring or nurturing, can’t fill the voids left by years of silence and darkness.

They don’t have much, but Mio and the children are happy together. Dororo’s long given up dreaming of such a future for himself. He’s been a loner since childhood, and that life suits him just fine; he just wants _more_ for Hyakkimaru. More than Dororo will ever be capable of giving.

Of course, he shoves the thought away as soon as it comes. Hyakkimaru draws demons to him, and Mio and the children won’t be safe for long with him around. Dororo hates it, but so long as demons hold Hyakkimaru’s body hostage, there’s no way Hyakkimaru can find a place to just _live._

And it’s not like Dororo is any help in a fight, but he can tag along for the journey as a fellow vagabond. He can make sure Hyakkimaru isn’t lonely.

It can only be after, Dororo knows. After Hyakkimaru has his body, Dororo will bring him back to Mio. And that will be the end of it.

He means to bring it to Mio’s attention. She already has more than enough mouths to feed, but Dororo sees how her eyes soften when she notices Hyakkimaru trailing after her. She sings to him as she does the others and doesn’t mind when Hyakkimaru stares at her chest for too long. She fixes his hair and straightens his clothes, calls him _Hyakkimaru-chan_ in a way that makes the kid’s eyes go comically wide.

Mio has a heart big enough to accommodate Hyakkimaru, Dororo knows. And he thinks he has a way to ensure that she has the means as well, if only she’ll agree to let him help.

Dororo wants to talk to her, just the two of them, but catching her alone is almost a fool’s errand. As warm and open a person as she is, Mio disappears from time to time, leaving Dororo alone with her bratty kids. (He really does appreciate Hyakkimaru in those moments, because he’s the only one who _listens_ – if only barely.) He doesn’t know where Mio goes, but she returns with food, supplies, and a little money, so Dororo imagines she’s found work somewhere.

She usually returns before the moon reaches its highest point, so one night, Dororo decides to sit up and wait for her. It had taken forever to get the kids to settle down, and Dororo feels as if his exhaustion has seeped into his bones. He’d triple checked to make sure everyone was still asleep before going outside the dilapidated temple to wait for Mio on the stone steps.

It’s the first moment of peace and quiet Dororo’s gotten in what feels like forever, though he thinks he kind of prefers his new normal. Hyakkimaru’s entrance into his life has brought no shortage of headaches and grief, but it’s… _nice_ to have someone to travel with, someone to talk to.

Hyakkimaru doesn’t always respond, but it’s almost better that way. He just listens. Absorbs. Dororo is used to people who have too much to say, so it’s nice that he gets to talk for a change.

Movement at the bottom of the steps draws Dororo from his musings, and he makes to stand, a small smile on his face as he descends the steps two at a time. “Mio!” Dororo calls, squinting through the darkness until he can find the flowery pattern of her kimono. “Welcome back. You need help carrying anything?”

Mio makes a small noise as Dororo reaches her, though it’s impossible to decipher what it means. She holds a small sack in her hands, tied together with dark string. She curls her fingers around it, and the action speaks of possession. “No,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, I don’t have much tonight.”

“That’s okay,” Dororo replies. “There’s still some rice left from the other night. And Hyakkimaru and I will probably be leaving tomorrow, so you won’t have to worry about us taking more of your food.”

Mio’s eyes widen slightly in the moonlight, and it’s then that Dororo sees the shadow on her cheek. “So soon?” she asks, sounding slightly put out even as Dororo steps closer to investigate. “The kids and I have enjoyed having you here. It’s really no trouble at all.”

Dororo makes a vague noise of acknowledgement. “Yeah, we just… Mio, is that a bruise?”

The girl flinches, holding the small sack close to her chest. She isn’t that much shorter than Dororo, but she seems so small in that moment, staring at the ground so their eyes don’t meet. “It was an accident,” she says. “It was dark, and I couldn’t see where I was going.”

Maybe Dororo would fall for it if he weren’t so familiar with injury. He’s seen all types of marks from all kinds of sources, and the dark mark on Mio’s face is too familiar. But that in itself doesn’t mean much. It’s the bruise accompanied by the state of her hair, the tear at the bottom of her kimono, the other dark marks on both of her wrists.

Dororo can practically feel himself going pale. “Mio – ”

“You don’t get to judge me,” Mio says quietly, sounding so fiercely defensive even as she takes a step away from him. “I do what I have to for the kids. It’s not – you couldn’t possibly understand.”

Dororo does understand, is the thing. Ever since his parents died, he’s lived in fear of this very thing, of someone seeing his body and taking it for their own, not understanding that something totally different lies underneath. “It’s not shameful,” Dororo finds himself saying, voice hoarse. “No one can judge you for surviving, least of all me.”

Mio shakes her head but says nothing, and Dororo can tell that he’s not going to get anything from her tonight. Whatever happened is still too raw, and the sight of Dororo is doing more harm than anything. Even if he understands that it’s for the best, he doesn’t want to leave her there.

But Mio doesn’t want or need his comfort and assurances, and Dororo isn’t someone who knows how to give them. So, he turns and heads back the way he came, leaving her to collect herself.

When he makes it back to the temple, all the children are still asleep. He carefully steps over their prone forms, making his way around to where he’d left Hyakkimaru earlier in the night. He’s still curled up in his little ball in the corner, and Dororo expects the boy to stay still as he lowers himself to the floor beside him.

“Aniki.” Dororo sucks in a quiet, startled breath when Hyakkimaru’s voice reaches him. “Why?”

“I was outside, waiting for Mio,” Dororo whispers, settling on his side and propping himself up with an elbow. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?”

Hyakkimaru is quiet. Dororo doesn’t know if the kid dreams, but sometimes he has trouble sleeping at night. He seems to have a better time of it when Mio sings to him and the other children, but she’s indisposed right now, and Dororo has nothing of the sort to offer in her place. His own mother used to pet his hair to get him to fall asleep, but Dororo doesn’t know how Hyakkimaru would respond to such a thing.

So, he just lays there, quiet and still, waiting to see if Hyakkimaru dozes off on his own.

It takes a minute, but eventually, Dororo hears the drag of Hyakkimaru’s clothes on the floor as he shuffles around. A cold, artificial hand lands on Dororo’s arm and remains there, unmoving. Neither of them says another word, and they fall asleep like that.

* * *

There will never be any running. Not for them, for the poor and homeless and disadvantaged. Dororo’s known it for a long time, but seeing it is another thing entirely.

When the fire rages, burning the temple to the ground, there's nowhere to run. There’s nowhere to run amongst the bodies of the children, lying in pools of their own blood, streaks of tears and ash on their faces. There’s nowhere to run as Mio falls to the ground, her blood an arc that seems to stretch to the sky.

There was nowhere for any of them to run, but this time, there’s no escaping for the soldiers either. Hyakkimaru won’t let them.

It’s different from watching Hyakkimaru hunt demons. There’s never any feeling; it’s just something Hyakkimaru has to do, has seemingly _always_ done. But as he picks off the soldiers one by one, there is an excess of emotion that the boy has probably never felt before.

He hacks and slashes and kills in a fit of passion, and Dororo just can’t seem to tear his eyes away. He alone bears witness to the slaughter, carried out by a small child with serrated steel for arms.

And the _screaming._ There’s nothing Dororo can liken it to. He’s never heard such a thing from any human, animal, or demon. It comes from a place within Hyakkimaru that may have never existed before, pulled forth by a grief he can’t comprehend.

There is no explaining what the soldiers have done here, so Hyakkimaru is making sense of it in the only way he knows how.

As the soldiers beg for their lives, Dororo feels nothing. These were the men who took advantage of Mio, and they killed her once she was no longer of use to them. Let them burn for all he cares. Let terror be the last thing they ever feel.

But with each man Hyakkimaru kills, Dororo sees the fire burning brighter, hotter. What will happen to Hyakkimaru when there’s nothing left to burn?

Dororo doesn’t know why he gets to his feet. He doesn’t know why he steps through the carnage, slipping on the blood that seeps between his toes but somehow still managing to stay upright. The path to Hyakkimaru isn’t clear, but it’s the only path Dororo can walk, so he keeps going.

He only stops when he feels a hand on his ankle. Dororo looks down and meets the wild, terrified eyes of a solider who looks no older than him. He hadn’t been the one to cut Mio down, but his sword had pierced the heart of one of the younger children.

“ _Please_ ,” the solider rasps, but then Hyakkimaru is there, eyes terribly hollow as he sinks his blade into his skull.

Dororo blinks, but there’s no making sense of it. The grip around his ankle goes slack, and Dororo doesn’t think, just snags Hyakkimaru by the back of his kimono as he turns to move away again.

The sound Hyakkimaru lets out is absolutely feral. It pierces at Dororo’s ears even as he drags the boy closer, ignoring his screaming and flailing. When Dororo falls to his knees, he drags Hyakkimaru down with him, and all Dororo can think is _, Stop. Don’t go. Stay with me._

“Hyakkimaru,” Dororo says, not nearly loud enough to be heard over Hyakkimaru’s anguished wailing.

Even so, Hyakkimaru hears him, shouting, “ _Aniki, aniki!”_ louder and louder with each repetition, voice splintering under the weight of everything that’s happened.

Dororo hears them. The questions. The pleas.

_Why?_

_Why did this happen?_

_Where is Mio? Where is everyone?_

_Why do I feel like this?_

_How do I make it stop?_

_Make it stop, Aniki._

_Don’t go, Aniki._

Hyakkimaru screams for answers that Dororo doesn’t have. He can’t explain something like this to a kid, something that can only be taught through experience. As much as Dororo would’ve given to keep this from happening, these dead soldiers have just taught Hyakkimaru more about the world than Dororo ever could have.

Humans aren’t like demons. There’s just no running from that kind of evil.

* * *

The questions stop. The grunts. The vague noises of acknowledgment or curiosity.

In some ways, it’s just like before. Hyakkimaru walks, and Dororo follows. There’s no time for anything else, and it doesn’t seem like Hyakkimaru even wants to go back to how things were before. There’s nothing Dororo can say to make it better, but he remains vigilant. No matter what may happen, Dororo is the oldest. He has to look out for Hyakkimaru, especially now when the boy is so fragile.

Hyakkimaru may not want him, may not want anything to do with him, but Dororo isn’t leaving. Not until Hyakkimaru is himself again, or as much of himself as he can be.

Dororo wants to be irritated. He’s never let himself care about another human being in this way, and he knows that Hyakkimaru can only ever be a distraction. That isn’t something Dororo can afford, not if he wants to keep himself alive, not if he wants to keep _Hyakkimaru_ alive.

Would it have been better, Dororo wonders, if he’d just walked past the bridge that day?

It doesn’t matter, in the end. And Dororo knows he only has himself to blame.

* * *

Something is wrong with Hyakkimaru. Dororo can’t tell what it is or why he knows, but just looking at the boy makes Dororo feel cold.

They’re tracking a demon that’s been terrorizing a local village for months, killing their livestock and defenseless children in equal measure. Dororo loses the stories of the individual children amidst the wave of grieving mothers and fathers who come to them, but it hardly matters in the grand scheme of things.

The kids are gone. All they can do is sate their parents’ need for revenge.

Hyakkimaru doesn’t care either way, Dororo thinks. He doesn’t stop to listen to the villagers’ stories like Dororo does, and often Dororo has to make excuses to go running after him.

“You’re being rude,” Dororo hisses before he can think better of it. “These people are grieving.”

Hyakkimaru, of course, says nothing, isn’t even aware of Dororo’s belated reaction to his own words. He follows a trail only he can make sense of, and all Dororo can do is chase him.

They don’t end up finding the demon until just before sundown. Dororo hears a low rumbling from the treetops, and he barely manages to roll away with an admittedly undignified shriek as a huge, dark mass descends on them from above. There’s the sound of Hyakkimaru’s prosthetics hitting the ground, and when Dororo looks back, he sees Hyakkimaru squaring off with the demon.

It’s probably one of the ugliest things Dororo has ever seen. It resembles a bear, though it’s twice as big and has long, lanky limbs that twist at odd angles. Large, pointed fangs lose their edge in the low light, but Dororo has no trouble imagining them ripping children apart. Its mouth is grotesque and twisted, dripping with saliva that falls on its own body and dampens its matted fur.

Hyakkimaru can see none of these things, so he doesn’t hesitate when he lunges forward, even if Dororo wishes he would. This is normally the part where Dororo makes himself scarce, finds a nook or cranny to hide in until Hyakkimaru’s done his business, but as Dororo pushes himself to his hands and knees, he finds that he… can’t really move.

That ice-cold feeling is back, just ten times as strong as Hyakkimaru hacks and slashes at the demon, weaving in and out of its attack range with nearly the same finesse as a seasoned samurai. There’s a terrifyingly blank look on his face that Dororo finds unsettling, even more so than the bellows and snarls of rage the demon lets out.

As Dororo watches, the demon twists around and swipes at Hyakkimaru with a huge paw. Hyakkimaru leans back, effectively ducking out of the way, but he loses his footing on something Dororo can’t see and slips. He falls hard, but he manages to roll out of the way as the demon drops down, slamming its paws into the ground so hard that the earth shakes beneath them.

It’s a simple blunder, one that Dororo has seen the boy make before. But in that moment, all Dororo knows is that Hyakkimaru is down, and without arms, he has trouble getting up. It’ll take a second for Hyakkimaru to right himself, but with the way the demon is moving, Dororo is inexplicably terrified that’s a second Hyakkimaru doesn’t have.

Dororo doesn’t think as he moves between the demon and Hyakkimaru, lying prone on the ground. Maybe later he’ll realize how stupid he’s being – _pushing back the one who knows how to use a sword?_ – but in the moment, all rationality leaves him.

When the demon’s claws come down, Hyakkimaru screams.

It’s the first sound he’s made in days.

* * *

There’s a hand on his forehead. Warm. Soothing.

“Mama,” Dororo croaks, and the tightness in his chest distracts him from the searing pain in his shoulder.

It can’t be her. It should be her. Dororo wishes it were her.

“Go back to sleep,” someone says, so Dororo does.

* * *

The next time he wakes, Dororo is still in pain, but he doesn’t think it’s anything he hasn’t felt before. Once, he was strung up and flogged within an inch of his life for accepting rice from a noblewoman. “It wasn’t hers to offer,” the nobleman – the husband – said from a distance, eyes attentive to ensure that his wife was watching the child she’d dared to help be brutalized in front of her.

Nothing will ever be worse than that, Dororo thinks, but his shoulder wound is a close second.

Dororo tries to push himself up, remembering Hyakkimaru’s battle with the demon, but small hands push him back down, perhaps a bit too roughly. “No!” Hyakkimaru shouts, and it’s been so long since Dororo heard his voice that he finds himself startling a little. “ _No_ , Aniki!”

“You can’t treat me like this,” Dororo complains as he flops back down on the ground. It’s soft, much softer than he’s used to, and he scrabbles around with his uninjured arm, confused by the unfamiliar furs. “I’m older than you!”

Hyakkimaru’s hands follow him down, applying pressure that keeps Dororo pinned in his weakened and bleary state. “No, Aniki. Bad!”

“You little brat!”

Low laughter distracts Dororo from his exasperation, and his eyes snap to the fire at his side and the figure that sits beyond it. It’s hard to tell with the light from the fire nearly blinding him, but Dororo thinks he sees a shaved head in the darkness.

“I was worried you’d be in too much pain to reassure your brother here,” the stranger says. “He’s been very worried about you.”

Dororo huffs, fighting against Hyakkimaru’s hands in order to sit up properly. He doesn’t like having his guard down around strangers, and even if this person hasn’t harmed him or Hyakkimaru yet, Dororo won’t let his guard down. “Ease up, you little runt, I’m fine,” he says, reaching up to grab one of Hyakkimaru’s arms. “I already told you – ”

He freezes. Where he’d expected a cold prosthetic, his fingers meet warm skin. Hyakkimaru flinches at the contact, but by the look on his face, the reaction isn’t a bad one. He seems awed, the scowl on his face disappearing as Dororo touches him. “What - ” Dororo splutters, instinctively reaching out with his other arm and wincing when a bolt of pain laces through him. “You got an arm back! That ugly beast really had one?”

Hyakkimaru nods, almost hesitantly. Once the marvel of their contact has died down, the boy seems sullen. He lowers his eyes to Dororo’s chest, and Dororo frowns as he lets go of Hyakkimaru’s arm. “Hey, what’s the matter? Did you get hurt? How come _you_ aren’t lying down?”

“He blames himself for your injury, I think.” Dororo glances across the fire, taking in their observer for the first time. He looks like any normal priest Dororo has come across, robes and all, but his eyes are blank in a way Dororo recognizes. At his side sits a biwa, clean and meticulously cared for. “That demon of yours wasn’t especially smart, but it was powerful. You took a nasty blow to the shoulder.”

Dororo glances down at himself, pulling his kimono aside to inspect the bandages wrapped around his shoulder and upper arm. The bandages are beginning to tinge crimson, and Dororo wonders how long he was out for. “Eh, every man needs a battle scar,” Dororo says, glancing over at Hyakkimaru. “Don’t feel guilty, okay? I’m the idiot that got in the way.”

Hyakkimaru frowns as he shakes his head. “Bad.”

“You’re not _bad_ , okay, it was just an accident.”

“Aniki _hurt_. Bad.”

They’d probably go back and forth for hours if the priest didn’t burst into another fit of laughter. “I wasn’t expecting this,” he chuckles. “I’d heard rumors of a pair of brothers slaughtering demons through Daigo’s land, but I didn’t realize you would both be children.”

“I’m seventeen,” Dororo says irritably. “I’m not a kid.”

“You both look the same to me,” the man says simply. “You’re children on the inside.”

Dororo rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah? You can see _inside_ me?”

“Something like that. I see the world just as your brother does.”

That gives Dororo pause, his simmering annoyance giving way to nagging curiosity. “What do you mean? You aren’t completely blind?”

The priest shakes his head, leaning forward to poke at the fire with a stick. Small embers burst into the air, fluttering away in the wind as Dororo watches. “Every living creature has a light inside of them. The color and brightness may change, but we’re all the same in that way. That’s how people like us navigate the world.”

The concept of a soul has never made much sense to Dororo, but he can’t help but be intrigued by the notion, at the idea that Hyakkimaru isn’t as blind as Dororo may have thought. “So, that’s how Hyakkimaru can find me? He can see my soul?”

“Of course,” the priest says, mouth twitching at the corners. He lifts a hand to his chest, resting it over his heart. The motion knocks all air clean out of Dororo’s lungs. “If you were like us, you’d see it if you looked here.”

Dororo swallows with some effort, reaching up with a shaking hand to touch his own chest. The place Hyakkimaru stares at so intently, the place he can’t seem to help but want to touch with his hands. As if to prove a point, Hyakkimaru reaches out with his newly acquired arm, the skin so much paler than the rest of his natural body. The warmth of his hand settles over Dororo’s, and for all of Dororo’s bravado, he honestly feels like crying.

“Aniki okay?” Hyakkimaru demands, brow furrowed as he stares at the spot where his hand rests atop Dororo’s.

“Yeah, Hyakkimaru,” Dororo replies, imagining a light of Hyakkimaru’s own, small and warm. “Aniki’s just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to this fic I wrote at 3am out of pure self indulgence


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